Through the Looking Glass
by Almaloney33
Summary: Blair confronts Chuck about paying her dowry. Reflections on their journey and all they have lost. And, finally, Blair asks the question we all wanted the answer to. (Season 5)


Take a moment to picture Chuck Bass. Go ahead, we've got time. Not as easy as it used to be, is it? Remember those days? His hair disheveled, bow tie crooked from the eager fingers of the busty blonde(s) draped over him. Or leaning against the bar, glass of scotch in hand, smirk firmly planted on his face as his eyes lazily scan the party around him. Those are the images once easily called to mind. But that was before. Before that wizened thing in his chest came to life and began to beat for her. That was before burlesque and limos and butterflies and diamonds and peonies and three words, eight letters that finally set them both free.

The images that followed _that_ were very different. You know the ones. Their fingers entwined as they strolled through Central Park. Hand on the small of her back as he guided her through another society gala, his warm eyes trained on her. _Always_ on her. _Only_ her.

But now? Well, now you'll find him mostly alone. His tie is still perfectly knotted and the glass of scotch is still there. He's strolling through Central Park again but this time there's only a dog by his side. The trademark smirk, though? It's halfhearted at best. And that devilish glint in his eyes? It's all but disappeared. Now it is just as easy to picture him standing alone by a window, staring out at the city below. Here's something that was never leaked to Gossip Girl, though. Chuck Bass has been looking out windows all his life. If pressed, he'd probably tell you that it began with Bart.

On the days when his father was actually home, he could usually be found by the tallest window in the suite. Chuck would study him, unseen, and marvel at his stillness. If it weren't for the occasional blink of his eye, Chuck would almost swear that his father had turned to stone (a premonition of sorts, as he later discovered). But in those instances when he would stumble into a room and find his father at the window, Chuck would slowly and quietly make his way toward him until he stood by his side. He never asked his father what he was looking at or thinking about. Even as a young child, Chuck knew better than to attempt conversation with Bart Bass - he was either ignored, dismissed or berated. So instead, Chuck would enjoy the silence alongside his father and savor the knowledge that if Bart Bass saw fit to spend his precious time looking out the window then it was indeed time well spent.

In the years that followed it became part of his routine. Once he'd disposed of the night's entertainment, Chuck would shower and take his nightcap by the window. Sometimes he would simply stare out at the night sky, unseeing, the lights blurring together before his eyes as he contemplated absolutely nothing. Other times he would study the Manhattan skyline, his father's handiwork easily identifiable, as he wondered what changes he would make once he got his own hands on it. But more recently this habit had become a nostalgic, albeit masochistic, indulgence.

When he had finally left the hospital foyer, ring box still clutched firmly in his grasp, he returned to the scene of the crime. On autopilot, he poured a large measure of scotch and resumed his usual stance by the window. This time, however, the Empire State Building mocked him mercilessly and he made a note to himself to look into having the thing demolished. That wretched building was all he saw in the nights before he fled to Europe.

Later, when Henry Prince was dead and buried, his eyes began to settle on other landmarks. The street corner where she told him she loved him for the first time. The balcony where he confessed to butterflies. The restaurant he'd taken her to when they'd finally emerged from 1812 at the beginning of that magical summer of love. All across the city lay the scattered remains of their history together, a veritable connect-the-dots of their love story.

But maybe Humphrey was right. Maybe Chuck Bass was destined to die alone in the closet of one of his hotels. Because today Chuck's gaze settled on the hospital where Blair lost her (their) baby, where he woke up alone, where the dream of a family of his own began to peter out before it finally flatlined.

And as if to remind him of what he'd lost, the soft ding of the elevator and the tell-tale clack of heels on hardwood broke his reverie and had him turning from the window toward Blair.

"Blair, what are you doing here?"

"Tell me, is it true? Did you pay my dowry?" she challenged. Well, she'd never been one to dance around a topic.

"Who told you that?"

"Tell me if it's true."

"Wha-why does it matter?"

"I knew it", she spat, shaking her head. "You thought you could buy me back just like you thought you could sell me for your hotel."

"You've got it all wrong."

"That's why you showed up with that ruse today about friendship. You bought my divorce and you came to collect your prize."

"Then why didn't I collect?" He let the words hang there for a moment. "I swear I did not want you to know about the dowry. The only people that knew were Nate and Andrew Tyler."

"You can't honestly expect me to believe that!"

"Of course not", he sighed in defeat. He made his way over to the pool table. His back was to her now as he picked up the 8 ball and rolled it aimlessly across the blue felt. "The first thing I was sure of, long before I could even admit to myself that I was in love with you, was that you made me happy. I didn't know how _un_ happy I was until I was with you. So I held onto you, tried to keep you with me at all costs."

He could almost feel the panic that had bubbled up inside him before cotillion, before his last-ditch ploy involving Carter Baizen backfired spectacularly. He shook his head - whether because of his stupidity at the time or to clear it of the memory, he wasn't sure. "It didn't work. And it was too late when I finally realized that it was never going to.

"That night you came to me at the bar...I wanted to hurt you", he continued. "I thought it would make me happy if you felt some of the pain and rejection that I felt. But it didn't. It took me a long time to learn that lesson, but I've never forgotten it."

"What lesson?" her tone was unsure now. This conversation was not going at all the way she imagined. Like a lot of things lately.

"That when I hurt you, I hurt myself. That I can't really be happy if it means you're not. I lost sight of it once and it almost destroyed me." Chuck didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. In a moment of sheer desperation, he'd chosen the building they now stood in over the only thing he'd ever truly loved. And when he had lost all hope of reconciliation he'd unwittingly twisted the knife into both their hearts. Blair had flung him far, then. Prague was as far as Chuck made it before he lost the last bit of hope he'd been clinging to - the Harry Winston ring that sparkled with the promise of a future together.

"Look...you've lost a lot in the last year. Your prince, your fairytale...your baby," he said quietly, the last word a choked whisper escaping his lips. "You deserve some happiness, you deserve the chance to move forward. Besides, your reason for not wanting me to pay your dowry no longer holds - you're with...Dan now. I told you I'd do anything for you - that doesn't change because you don't love me anymore." And he gathered the strength to meet her eyes once more. "I just wanted you to be free. Whom you choose to love with that freedom is up to you." A sad smile was the most he could offer her at that point.

She seemed somewhat stunned by all he'd said and he wasn't sure whether she wanted to say anything in return. But he was tired and drained, and being alone with her was suddenly torturous. "Was there anything else?" he asked. He knew there wasn't. None of it changed anything. He never expected it to. He hadn't wanted her to know in the first place. And if he expected to feel lighter after his confession, the heaviness settling in his bones confirmed otherwise.

All she could do in response was shake her head slowly from side to side. His words - the most she'd allowed him to say to her in months - had smothered her, silenced her. He'd developed a habit of surprising her lately, stealing her breath. And Blair Waldorf had grown wary of surprises.

"Take care, Blair," he uttered softly, that same sad smile on his face.

She watched his retreating form as he returned to the window once more. That sad smile was beginning to haunt her. What made it truly sad was the resignation behind it. As though he never expected anything else. As though this were his lot in life. As though it would be foolish to expect anyone to believe in him. As though he didn't deserve anything more, anything better. What made it even sadder was the truth that was finally dawning on Blair: he did deserve more; he did deserve better.

She told Dan afterward that she wasn't used to seeing Chuck doing anything selfless but it was yet another lie in a steadily growing list. Their history together was littered with Chuck's (too often misguided) attempts to make Blair happy. He had stopped at nothing to bring her scrapbook to life for prom, knowing all the while that she would spend the evening on the arm of another. He'd applied to Columbia for her when she was too proud and stubborn to admit that she was miserable at NYU. She'd lost count of how many times had he let her go, convinced that he couldn't make her happy. And when he finally believed he could, he had accepted that Blair Waldorf was now a package deal, one that included another man's child. He was going to love her baby as much as he loved her. And now he had paid her dowry with no other motive than her freedom and ultimate happiness.

There was a time when Blair had prided herself on being the woman that had changed Chuck Bass for the better. She had been the one to teach him how to love, to commit, to step out from his father's shadow. And maybe she _had_ given him a push in the right direction, held his hand as he'd taken those first faltering steps. But she'd walked away when he stumbled and fell, bringing their world down with him. And while her back was turned (while she turned her back), it seemed Chuck had picked himself up and learned how to walk alone. He'd hit his stride in her absence, perhaps _because_ of her absence. That thought twisted something in her stomach. Not fluttering, though. Nothing like butterflies.

An eerie silence settled around her as she sat down at her vanity. The divorce papers bearing the Royal Monegasque seal lay before her in silent reproach. Her divorce from the man who would have made her a princess. As long as she stayed locked in his tower and smiled at the people below. Always smiling. Must keep smiling.

She lifted her hairbrush before realizing the tiara Dan had given her was still perched atop her head. Its plastic teeth tore at her hair as she wrenched it free before dropping it in the bin at her feet. Dan. He had tried to make her feel like a princess and she had giggled at the sweetness of his gesture as they skipped down the steps, hands entwined. It was only later as she stared at the picture accompanying the Gossip Girl blast that the smile slipped from her face. There was something jarring about the image of her wearing a plastic tiara at the foot of the Met steps.

Those steps were Blair's royal court and she always ruled from the highest perch. She had accomplished much during her reign: sealing fates; forging destinies; imposing her will on the guileless masses; mortar and pestling all those hopeful young spirits. The Met steps was where she had taken her rightful place as Queen.

She tried to remember the last time she felt like that - like a Queen, like a woman forging her own destiny. It took far too long but the memory finally bubbled to the surface, clear and bright. She had stripped down to her underwear in front of John DeLucie, not willing to waste another moment waiting and wondering. Her devil (redeemed) needed to know that his angel (drawn to the dark side) loved him too. It was a risk, it was always a risk, but for twenty-two glorious minutes they reveled in the spoils of their long forgotten war, for once both emerging victorious, ready to take on the world. But then...the curtain fell, and Anne Archibald, and Serena, and KC...and she needed to be Blair Waldorf before she could be Chuck Bass' girlfriend. She needed to be a powerful woman and she was frightened that it would be too cold in his shadow.

So she had hastened towards the light, towards a real life fairytale. She scrambled to climb atop the throne, but she should have remembered her words to Serena years earlier: fairytales end when they do for a reason. Because the truth had been closer to a nightmare. And she had never felt more powerless.

She had been lost and without a script to work from when Dan arrived with a pedestal and a part written just for her. She could finally be the heroine of her own story. Except Dan owned the copyright to _Inside_ along with all the characters contained within.

And now she was playing dress-up on the Met steps like a child.

Blair raised the brush to her hair and her eyes to the mirror.

"Who are you?" she whispered.


End file.
